


The Most Legitimate Passion

by roebling



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crimes & Criminals, Multi, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon really loves the fact that he and Spencer have gotten to the point in their relationship where they don't have to spend every second of every day together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Legitimate Passion

Brendon really loves the fact that he and Spencer have gotten to the point in their relationship where they don't have to spend every second of every day together. There was a time in his life when he would have hated the idea he might not want to be around the person he loves, always. He realizes now that this is better because they trust each other. Besides, absence really does make the heart grow fonder, as it turns out. After a day out doing their own thing, Brendon's heart kind of does a little pitter-patter when he gets home and Spencer presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

Plus, he's learning things about Spencer he might never have realized, now that they're out on tour. Brendon's not sure why it never came up before, but Spencer is like, incredibly knowledgeable about art. Whenever they have a day off, he likes to visit a local museum, usually by himself. He says it's relaxing, and the atmosphere helps him think. Brendon goes with once in a while, but he personally thinks that most art museums are kind of dull and way too quiet, so he's fine with letting Spencer have his time alone to be an aesthete or whatever.

They're in Madrid and they have a day off to go sightseeing. Ian, Dallon, and Zack have already declared that nothing's keeping them from going a bull fight. Brendon thinks it's going to be kind of gruesome, but he sort of wants to go to. Spencer stares down at his cup of coffee.

"I think I'm going to pass, guys," he says. "The Prado has some of the best hardstone carving anywhere in the world. I really want to check it out." He's already got out his guidebook, and shows them all the pictures of fancy little cups and bowls and things.

Okay, it's kind of weird, but who's Brendon to pass judgment? He kind of likes that his boyfriend is so sophisticated. Spencer sees them out to their taxi and waves goodbye. Brendon catches Spencer's eye in the rear-view mirror as the car is pulling away, and when Spencer grins brightly, Brendon melts a little inside.

Spencer's at the hotel when they get back that evening, sitting on his bed staring at some brochures from the museum. Brendon sits down behind him and drapes himself over Spencer's shoulder.

"How was your day?" he asks.

"It was great," Spencer says, calmly. "The museum was beautiful. How was your spectacle of death and destruction?"

"Pretty gnarly," Brendon admits. "I think Zack nearly lost his breakfast, and we all got sunburned."

Spencer laughs, and Brendon can feel the rumble deep in his chest. They stay there for a while, Spencer reading and Brendon just enjoying being near him and then get ready for bed, because they've got to be up early the next morning. They shower and brush their teeth and crawl under the covers. Spencer wraps his arms around Brendon's waist and pulls him close, and Brendon smiles, and he's asleep before he knows it.

He's a really heavy sleeper, Brendon is, which comes in handy when you spend a good chunk of your year on a bus with five or six other guys. That makes it even stranger when he wakes up sometime in the middle of the night to find himself alone in bed. He's still confusedly emerging from a bizarre dream about a skyscraper and astroturf and his best friend from elementary school when he realizes the sheets on Spencer's side of the bed are cool, no lingering body heat at all. He's thinking of getting up and investigating but his eyelids flutter and he rolls over and buries his face in his soft pillow and he's asleep again.

At breakfast the next morning, Spencer is yawning and bleary-eyed.

"Where did you go last night?" Brendon asks, frowning.

Spencer's cheeks flush pink. "Oh," he says. "Um, nowhere. I couldn't sleep at all though, and I didn't want to wake you, so I read in the other room for a while."

Brendon shakes his head. "Dude, you should have asked me for a Tylenol PM or something. Now you're going to be out of it all day."

Spencer is out of it, too. The minute they get on the plane for Paris, he's out like a light, head drooping on Brendon's shoulder. Brendon pushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles.

They land in Paris and actually get their baggage and everything pretty quickly, but Spencer's still glaring at the bags sliding down the conveyor belt.

"What are you doing?" Brendon asks. "We got your stuff, Spence."

"No," Spencer says. "I haven't got my bag yet."

"Seriously," Brendon says. "We grabbed it dude. It's right over there." He points to where Zack is mounding their luggage on a trolley.

"Not that bag," Spencer says. "My other bag."

Brendon frowns. He hadn't even realized Spencer had another bag, and he can't imagine what he's got in it. Spencer's content to wear the same three or four sets of clothes all tour, and he doesn't bring much else other than his ipod and laptop. Sometimes he brings back souvineers for the girls and for his mom, but he didn't mention anything about going shopping in Spain ...

Sure enough though, a nondescript black suitcase rolls down the ramp and Spencer grabs it.

"Got everything now?" Brendon asks, still a little confused.

"Yup," Spencer says, and he takes Brendon's hand.

The other guys are waiting for them impatiently.

"Dude, you want me to throw that on here?" Zack asks, reaching for Spencer's mystery bag.

Spencer's eyes go wide. "No, no," he says. "I've got this one."

Brendon can't help but notice his white-knuckled grip on the handle.

The show in Paris goes awesome. The kids are so enthusiastic and it's just flat-out fun. The next day they all take the train to Versailles and wander around. Spencer reels off random factoids about Charles Le Brun and Louis XIV furniture and they walk all the way around the Grand Canal. In a secluded corner of the garden, Spencer backs Brendon up against a hedge and kisses him softly. They make out for a while until they're startled by a pair of elderly tourists. It's had to tell who's more shocked. Laughing, they wander back to the Parterre d’Eau.

That night the other guys head to a show at some cabaret, and Spencer takes Brendon to the Louvre. It's not peak tourist season and it's a Wednesday night, so the galleries are surprisingly empty. It's strange and huge and beautiful. Brendon's mind is blown when he reads the little sign in front of the Victory Stele of Naram-Sin and realizes he's staring at something that's four fucking thousand years old. He's always been impressed with the longevity of artists like U2 or Bruce Springsteen, but this puts things in a new perspective.

They're standing at the bottom of a staircase, when Spencer leans close and whispers in Brendon's ear: "Look up."

He does, and the statue at the head of the stairs is one of the most compelling things he's ever seen. He studies it for a while, unable to figure out why he doesn't want to look away. He thinks he's starting to figure out what Spencer likes about this stuff.

They see the Mona Lisa, of course, or try to, but the crowds are too big to let them get very close. Instead, they stand in a corner and watch the fracas.

"You can barely see her behind that glass," Brendon says.

"It's bulletproof, layered with polyvinyl thermoplastic," Spencer says idly. "You can melt it, you know, if you can find something hot enough."

Two days later, they're in Florence. They got in late, late the night before, taking the train after a show in Genoa. It's morning and Brendon wants to explore, but Spencer is zombie tired. He's still not sleeping well, and Brendon's starting to get nervous. Maybe he's sick, even though he seems fine after a nap. As unlikely as it is, Brendon's even starting to wonder if he's like, on drugs or something. That's such an absurd though that he dismisses it instantly, but he knows something's up. He trusts Spencer though, and he knows Spencer is going to come to him with whatever the problem is when he's ready.

Later, when they're back stage at the venue just hanging out, Dallon puts down the newspaper he's reading and says, "Dude, Spencer, that museum you went to in Spain got robbed the day you were there. Someone took some little statue or something."

"Oh man," Brendon says. "Did you see any shady characters lurking around?"

Spencer's face has drained of all color. "Uh, no," he says. "I didn't notice anything at all. Wow, I have to start paying better attention."

"Seriously," Brendon says, frowning. "What if they had taken you hostage or something, Spencer? I would have to bust in there all Jack Ryan style and save you!"

The conversation degenerates into a lengthy debate about the most awesome secret agent dudes when Ian rolls his eyes and says Jack Ryan is a pussy.

After the show that night, they eat a fantastic dinner at a tiny hole in the wall restaurant and get a little drunk on red wine. They're loud and raucous as they stumble through the deserted cobblestone streets. Dallon, Ian, and Zack decided to stay out when they pass a bustling pub full of energetic German soccer fans, but Brendon and Spencer head back to the hotel. Their room is large and beautiful with a view of the cathedral. They change into pajamas and sit on the bed and talk about the show and the tour and the general awesomeness of their lives. Much later, Brendon falls asleep in Spencer's arms, reassured that everything's just fine.

The next morning, after his shower, he can't find a single clean shirt, so he decides to borrow one from Spencer. He unzips Spencer's bag and frowns, because it's full of clothes, sure, but not anything that Brendon recognizes. Everything's black and made of this weird material that seems to absorb the light. He dumps some of the weird black clothes onto the bed and gasps, because the bottom of Spencer's bag is layered with neatly labeled Ziplock bags, and in those bags are gold necklaces and sparkling jewels and precious stones.

Brendon inhales sharply. He piles the clothes back in the suitcase and zips it back up and puts it back on the ground next to Spencer's bed. He puts on one of his own shirts, even though it smells pretty groady, and heads downstairs. Later, he tells himself it must just have been stuff Spencer picked up for his mom. She's always had a taste for flashy jewelry.

They play Milan, and wait in line for hours to see Da Vinci's fresco. They fly over the Alps and play the next night in Frankfurt, and head straight on to Berlin. They get in late, and everyone heads right up to their rooms. Spencer seems pretty wiped; he gets changed and crawls into bed. Brendon feigns sleepiness and does the same, but really he's wide awake. He lies in bed listening, but Spencer's breathing is even and slow. He's really asleep. Brendon snuggles closer to him and shuts his eyes.

The floor creaks when Spencer steps out of bed, and Brendon's awake in an instant. He cracks his eyes open. Spencer strips off his shirt and his pajamas and gets changed. The clothes he puts on are dark and slim-fitting and it's almost impossible to see him in the dark room once he's dressed. He leans down, disappearing out of Brendon's line of sight. A second later, Brendon hears the door shut, so quietly it's barely audible. He inhales sharply, and gets up. He's barely even aware of what clothes he throws on in his haste to follow. He toes into his sneakers, not even untying the laces. He grabs his room key and ducks into the hall just as Spencer disappears into the stairwell.

Brendon waits a long moment, counting to ten in his head. The hall is utterly silent. Brendon didn't look at the bedside clock; time seems strangely irrelevant. He takes a deep breath, and follows Spencer down the stairs. Each step he takes seems to echo. The wall sconces placed every five feet or so are dim, and he nearly stumbles more than once. In the lobby, the night clerk is dozing behind his desk, snoring softly. Brendon lingers in the stairwell until he sees Spencer slip out the front door. He swallows, unreasonably nervous, and crosses the lobby to the front door. He steps outside just as Spencer disappears around the street corner.

The night is cold and the streets are empty. He follows Spencer at a fair distance, sometimes losing him when he slips in the the shadows. Even the slight noise of Brendon's breathing seems like a shout. He feels like he's stepped into some kind of a spy movie. His stomach is churning and tense. Images flash through his mind -- Spencer slipping into a candle-lit bedroom for secret assignations with some gorgeous man or women. Spencer in a dirty, squalid room, handing over thick rolls of bills and getting tiny packets of some horrible drug in return. These images as much as the chill in the air bring goosebumps to Brendon's skin.

They move silently through the street for what seems like hours but is probably more like minutes. Once or twice Brendon's sure that Spencer's seen him, and he ducks quickly into a doorway. He's actually pretty impressed by his stealth, considering his reputation for a loud, annoying klutz. Spencer comes to a stop in front of a building with a tall, wrought-iron gate. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest and one hip cocked, an utterly familiar posture. He regards the gate in silence for a moment, and then shakes his head. Brendon can tell he's annoyed. He glances over his shoulder and then takes off around the corner of the building at a jog.

Brendon spies him take a running start and then jump way higher than he ever thought Spencer could possibly jump. He grabs hold of a window ledge and pulls himself up in one easy motion. Brendon knows that Spencer is in pretty decent shape, especially lately, and he's got all kinds of muscles in his arms and his back, but the moves he's busting out now are like fucking acrobatics. Brendon wants to know if this is some new thing, or if Spencer's always had these secret skills.

Half of him wants to turn tail and head back to the hotel and pretend he never woke up, but the other half insists he follows. He takes a running start and tries to duplicate Spencer's feat. His fingertips just catch the ledge and he scrambles for a moment, feet slipping against the stone blocks. Finally, he's able to heave himself up, but he's breathless and spends a few moments leaning against the window, panting. The window is open, the lock broken. There's some kind of electronic alarm, but all its wiry entrails are spilling out.

Brendon peers through the window. It's hard to spot Spencer at first but then he notices movement in the far corner of the room. Brendon carefully lowers himself the nine or so feet to the floor and ducks behind a pillar just as the lights come on. They're in a huge hall. The ceiling is high and vaulted and painted with a gorgeous fresco, the kind of thing you picture in movies about kings and queens and their intrigues. The floor is laid with different color marble, pieces together in an intricate pattern. All along the perimeter of the room there are display cases. Their spotlights are dimmed now in sleep, but Brendon can see they're full of silver and gold and precious things. Spencer is staring at the biggest case of all with a strange hungry expression. Blatant want is written as plainly on his face as Brendon has ever seen it.

Spencer extracts this weird circular gadget from from a tiny backpack Brendon hadn't even noticed. He holds it up to the glass, and there is a horrible loud noise that lasts only a second but makes Brendon's ears ache. Then Spencer pulls the gadget away and there's a perfect round hold, just big enough to let a man's hand pass. This is all so outlandish it's probably a dream. Where is Spencer getting spy gadgets from? When he bought his new car, he could barely install the GPS. Brendon had to take over halfway through when it started giving them directions to the Sydney Opera House. It's not a dream though, because his knees are starting to ache from crouching on the cold, hard floor.

Gingerly, Spencer reaches one hand into the case. He's so careful not to touch the glass it's like a fucking game of Operation. He's all elegance and controlled motion and Brendon would be lying if he didn't admit he found it kind of hot. Spencer really wears that black catsuit well. Like he's playing some twisted crane game, he reaches down and wraps his fingers around a tiny figurine, glittery and gorgeous green. He pulls his arm back out slowly, stares at the little statue in his hand for a moment with wide, thrilled eyes, and drops her in a plastic baggy. Then it's into his backpack she goes.

Spencer repeats this careful exercise a few times, grabbing a necklace and some gold coins. He's careful and practically silent. Brendon's boyfriend is clearly some kind of criminal mastermind, and he's kind of blown away. How did he not realize this sooner? Has Spencer always been a ... theif? Brendon's chest is starting to feel a little tight, and he wants some fresh air. He stands, but the window is high and beyond his reach. He steps back, and then a little further, and he stumbles. His surprised gasp echoes as loud as a bomb blast in the dead silence.

The next thing he knows he's looking up and Spencer's standing over him with a stern expression on his face.

"Brendon? What are you doing here?" He frowns. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is for you?" He takes Brendon's hand and pulls him to his feet, and he goes to put his arm around Brendon's shoulder, as if to guide him, but Brendon pulls away.

"Dangerous for me? What about you?" His voice is a little shrill. "How long have you been doing this? Were you ever going to tell me, or were you just going to wait until you got caught for me to find out?"

Spencer looks skeptical. "I don't caught," he says. "Brendon, can't we talk about this later ..."

"No, we can't," Brendon says. "I totally trusted you, Spence, and you're out running around being some kind of diamond thief and putting yourself in mortal danger every night. What the fuck!"

"Bren ..." Spencer's voice is soft. "I didn't want you to think that I'm a bad person."

"You idiot," Brendon says, reaching for Spencer's hand. "I love you, dude. I don't know why you're doing this, and I'm pissed you didn't trust me enough to tell me, but I know no matter what I love you."

Spencer smiles and ducks his head. "I just ... I like beautiful things," he says, as if that explains it.

"Not more than you like me, I hope," Brendon says. He's still feeling surly and grumpy and pissed off at being lied to, if only by omission.

"I've never found anything more beautiful than you," Spencer says gently. He takes off the dumb skullcap he's wearing and leans forward and kisses Brendon.

Then, somewhere far away in the bowels of the big old building, an alarm sounds.

"Shit, we've gotta get out of here," Spencer says. He glances down, and his eyes widen in horror. "Brendon, you didn't wear gloves?"

Brendon shakes his head. He didn't even think of that. He's not the cunning one in this relationship.

"They're gonna ID you," Spencer says. His voice his shaking and Brendon feels a sharp jolt of fear. "Fuck. Okay, we've gotta go. We'll figure it out later."

He gives Brendon a boost up onto the window ledge, and jumps up right behind. They both drop onto the asphalt outside, one-two. Somewhere very near by, a siren begins to wail, and then another. Brendon can see the glow of the lights from the main street. Their eyes meet. Spencer's are wide with shock, but his mouth is curved in a tiny smile.

"Run," he whispers, and they do, hand in hand, through empty streets and alleys and back yards. Brendon's heart pounds in his chest, and his cheeks are warm. They pause for a moment, and he gasps, and Spencer grins, and they're off again, into the night.


End file.
